


A Kind of Epilogue

by Katzedecimal



Series: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor... What, son? [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9032576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: The holiday is over.





	1. Chapter 1

Mycroft strode into his office and sat down. He logged into his computer and sipped his tea, having mixed feelings about being back. On the one hand, he was relieved to be taking up the reins again. On the other hand, the noise and bustle of crowded London had him wishing to run straight back to the solitude of the Muskoka lake. And he was already missing the back bacon.

“Good morning, sir.”

He looked up and smiled as his assistant entered, “Good morning!” 

“Did you enjoy your holiday? You look well rested, apart from some minor jet lag.”

“Yes, I expect it will be a week before I’m fully adjusted back to London time. It was a lovely holiday, far more enjoyable than I had anticipated. How unfortunate that I should have to sack you for your part in it. I need to be able to trust the people I work with.”

He watched her carefully as she nodded. “I have prepared my resignation,” she said, her voice steady, “I have prepared your calendar and organised your email for the interim, and I have prepared a list of suitable potential candidates.”

He had to admire her composure in face of the knowledge that termination from their line of work tended to involve a bit more than a pink slip. “That won’t be necessary,” Mycroft said easily, “I said I _should_ sack you; I didn’t say I was going to. I merely needed to be certain of your motivation in participating in a plan to drug and kidnap me.”

“I was convinced of the necessity, sir, as was your brother.”

He smiled, “I understand it was your suggestion to re-route my work to my mother, in order to avert suspicion.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It worked very nicely, so I’m told.” He picked up the letter of resignation and glanced at it, then turned and put it through the paper shredder, then called up a file on his computer. “I should like you to arrange an appointment with this woman.”

* * * *

Janine sat on the upholstered chair, listening to the wall clock tick-tick-tick and staring at the man. He’d been staring at her over his steepled fingers for some minutes now and she was getting very uncomfortable. Finally he lifted his hands and signed, ‘And how is your fluency coming along?’

‘Improving,’ she signed back, ‘Not fluent yet. I still need my tablet or paper. Sometimes I don’t always understand.’

“Very well,” Mycroft said in a smooth voice, “Then I shall continue in English, if it does not offend you.” She shook her head and he continued, “You were having a difficult time locating employment even before your current communication issues. The circumstances surrounding your… unemployment, despite having nothing to do with you, have nevertheless had a lasting impact on your reputation.”

She nodded, unsure where this was going. 

“You have an excellent catalogue of skills as an executive assistant,” he continued, “Plus, you are skilled in manipulation and you are promiscuous. And of course, you are mute.” She glared at him and he smiled, “When one doesn’t speak, people tend to assume one doesn’t hear, either. Or think. It’s a very… exploitable tendency.”

Janine sat up, now getting an idea of where this was going. She nodded, smiling. 

“How very unfortunate, then, that you decided to sell out my little brother in a fit of pique.”

Her smile crashed. ‘Do you know what he did to me?!’

Mycroft snorted, “Of course I do. Who do you think suggested it to him? Did he strike you as the type to come up with such a strategy on his own? He once disguised himself as a _priest,_ which was far more convincing, I must say.” 

Janine shifted, nettled. ‘Then why am I even here?’ she signed angrily, ‘Did you bring me here just to mock me?’

“Hardly,” Mycroft purred, “I needed to assess where your loyalties truly lie. Although your petty stunt was lucrative for you, it ultimately did Sherlock no harm whatsoever. Although it did influence that abominable television programme, but I shall be pursuing that independently. Despite your histories, Sherlock speaks quite highly of you. I do have an opportunity in mind for which your skill set - all of it - would be very well suited. Are you interested?”

This time Janine smiled and nodded firmly. ‘Yes.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock finds that an isolated cottage on a lake in the woods can be the least boring thing ever.

Moose hunting had gone better than expected, which was to say, it had actually gone pretty well. Once Sherlock understood what they were looking for, it was pretty easy to find the spoor. And once he **saw** the thing, he immediately understood why so many of them were hit by vehicles. He’d been expecting something the size of a deer or an elk, not… not _this_. Now he could understand why nobody saw their eyes reflecting the light of headlamps - the creatures were too damned tall! 

When it was on the ground, it had to be eviscerated right away. Once they had emptied the cavity, Sherlock had immediately started dissecting the viscera. To his delight, John joined him, examining the organs and discussing his findings, while Anderson examined the bullet wounds. If any of their hosts found it strange, they didn’t say anything. They just laughed when Sherlock delightedly blurted, “That was a lot less boring than I thought it would be!”

The whole holiday had been. He and John had been left mostly to themselves and had gone on long walks in the woods together, talking of anything. They went out well wrapped against the advancing chill and came back to the warm woodstove and hot tea. He had thought he would find it tedious but John made everything better. Now he sat on the cottage deck, watching the sky. It was midnight and the sky was clear, with so little light pollution that it seemed to be full of stars. Almost clear. 

“John?” he called softly towards the bedroom window. He listened carefully, then nodded to himself and called again, a little louder, “John!”

“Hn..! Hmf..? Wha..? Sherlock? Wh’re y’?”

“I’m outside, John. On the porch.”

John appeared at the window, “Is everything alright?”

“It’s the Northern Lights, John. Aurora borealis! Come out and look.”

That did the trick. John shrugged off his nightmare and shrugged on his jumper and jacket to join Sherlock on the porch. They stared up at the sky in silence. “I’ve never seen them like this,” John said finally.

“I watched them when I was in Norway,” Sherlock said, “Every time, I wished you were there to watch them with me.” John stared at him for several moments before looking back at the sky, and sneaked his hand into Sherlock’s. 

The night was chilly but Sherlock felt warm. He gazed up as a curtain of green flame, tipped with red, rippled and retreated, revealing the smudged ribbon of the Milky Way. John seemed tense, nervous, but that wasn’t unusual after he’d had a nightmare. He was always afraid of what Sherlock might have heard and was always relieved when Sherlock pretended that he never ever heard anything. 

“So,” John said finally, “’Sherlock Watson’, still think it could work?” Another curtain of dancing green rippled out across the sky. “Because I’ve given it some thought and ‘John Holmes’ just won’t, people will think I’m in porn.”

The light ebbed and flowed, mostly green with flicks of red like phoenix feathers. Any other time, Sherlock would have been able to name the atmospheric gasses causing the effects but right now his mind had gone totally blank as it stalled on the impossible thing John had just said. 

He couldn’t **possibly** mean that the way it sounded.

John turned to him with a grin, “Yeah, I meant that how it sounded.” Apparently his mind had slowed enough that John was able to read it. “I’m asking.”

And Sherlock no longer saw the Lights.

He saw nothing but John’s smile. And the impossible thing John had said. The impossible question. Waiting for an answer. 

“But… I’m…” he tried. John waited. Finally Sherlock managed to blurt out, “I’m an arse!”

“Yes,” John nodded, “You are.”

“I’m not… I’m not nice!”

“Nope,” John agreed, “Not even on your best days.”

“I’m a junkie!”

“Not so much anymore.”

“I’m inconsiderate!”

“Really?”

“Yes! I wake you up at night!”

“Yes, funny that, you always seem to get me when I’m having a nightmare. One would almost think it was deliberate.” Sherlock said nothing and John grinned, “Of course, if it _was_ , that’s pretty considerate of you.” Sherlock still said nothing. “ _And_ you put yourself at risk of boredom because you thought I might like a holiday, which in _most people_ , would be taken as very considerate.”

“I leave experiments in the fridge,” Sherlock said weakly.

“Never a dull moment.”

“I’m rude to people. Clients.”

“Yes, I **finally** figured out that that’s one of your screening methods. It has to be important to people if they’re willing to put up with an arse like you.”

“Yes, exact…” Sherlock trailed off as John cupped his cheek and kissed him. 

“It’s all true,” John said quietly. He thought about how he had beaten up Sherlock, not even noticing that Sherlock had already been beaten. He thought about how he hadn’t even tried to control his rage. “But I’m not exactly a prize-winning example of humanity, either. You are a terrible person and a wonderful human being, Sherlock Holmes. And you’re the partner I never realised I needed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wrapping this up before Season 4 airs.


End file.
